Too Little, Too Late
by HellCat 1031
Summary: He had every intention of walking away. Tag to Everybody Loves A Clown. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine. Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are not mine. I cry incredibly as I type these words. My shrink and I are working on my issues._

_Warnings: Some words. _

_Rating: PG-13_

_Too Little, Too Late_

_Chapter 1: So Far Gone?_

He had every intention of walking away.

If his brother wanted to be stoic and stony and so damn stubborn, then fine. He'll let him fester in his little snit fit. Damned if he'll push anymore.

He walked a few more steps.

Why couldn't he get it? Sam wondered. Why can't he realize that I'm here? Why the hell can't I be good enough? Why can't he trust me enough to feel? Just goddamn feel!

The words he had said to his brother were calm. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the tears from his eyes or his voice. But he could keep the anger, and he could keep the hurt from blaring through. Anger at his father, at Dean, at himself. Anger that his father was dead, that he couldn't stay, that he couldn't stay _alive_ for him to make things right. Anger at Dean for not trying harder, for not forcing them together, for not being able to make him see. Anger at himself for being so damn childish, for picking that fight, for never having the chance to say he was sorry.

"_Now that he's dead, now you wanna make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't…it's too little too late!"_

Damn you, Dad. And damn you, Dean.

"_I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know he died thinking that I hate him. So you're right. What I'm doing right now, it's too little. It's too late."_

The hurt was there. But he wasn't quite sure where it came from.

"_I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know."_

The sound of shattering glass broke through tortured thoughts and had him spinning around as memories of the sounds of twisting metal and exploding glass echoed through his mind. He stood still, unable to move, to breath before he sprinted across the dusty ground faster than he'd thought he could run. Fear for his brother clutched at his heart, constricted his lungs.

He arrived there in mere seconds. The silence after that first explosion forcing him all that much faster. What he saw when he finally made it, made him stop dead and just stare.

He saw his brother. Swinging a crow bar so violently, so furiously, that for the first time in his life—he feared his brother. There was panic at the darkness, the brutality that so rarely made it past a stony façade or a smartass retort.

He could do nothing but just stand there. Silent and stunned. One savage blow became two then three then more. The quiet gasps for air and the tight moans gained more in intensity, the swings became more vicious.

Sam wondered what his brother saw every time the crow bar bit into the Impala's trunk. He wondered what it could possibly that deserved, that drew out so much fury. He wanted to run over and stop him but feared that his body would take the place of the mangled metal. Would Dean see him, or would he see something else…would he stop at the first cry of pain or would he just keep hitting until he couldn't hit anymore? Until there was nothing of either of them to give up.

Thirteen.

Gasp.

Moan.

Tears flooded Sam's moss green eyes.

Fourteen.

Gasp.

Moan.

He blinked when his brother's rigid body became a blurry silhouette. He had to see. He couldn't not. If he couldn't see Dean, did that mean that he'd lost him?

Fifteen.

Gasp.

Moan.

One tear split over and burned a path before fading. What did that mean? A part of his soul disappearing and burning into nothingness?

Sixteen.

Gasp.

Moan.

Another made its way slowly down his face, before disappearing in sand. Was that how it would end? In a daunting, terribly slow journey before being buried, forgotten and unseen?

Seventeen.

Gasp.

Moan.

_Clang._

God. _Dean_. How could they fix this?

For the second after the crow bar crashed the ground, Dean just seemed to collapse into himself, bracing his arms on the edge slumped over as he stared at the large hole he had created in the trunk. Then he turned his back to Sam, still staring down then he looked up.

Sam knew his brother was looking in his direction. But he also knew that Dean was looking _through_ him. A look of total and complete heartbreak on his face.

His brother couldn't see him.

Were they that far gone? Had that much changed?

He could always count on Dean to be there, to just _see_ him even if he was miles away. But here he was. Not even twenty feet away and Dean couldn't see him.

Oh God. He was losing everything.

But more than that, he was losing _Dean_.

_To be continued…_

_I hope you enjoyed the story. I'm planning at least two chapters of this. Real life permitting, hopefully I can have it finished by the weekend. Between classes and drama—stage as well as RL—I'm going to do my best._

_Please review. Constructive criticism welcome, but please no flames. Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

**When I checked my email this morning, I nearly squealed in joy because I had reviews! Yay! LOL. Okay, I'm done. If I could, I sent replies to all those who had an email, but there were a couple that didn't. So I just wanted to start off with another thanks to all who read and reviewed. You guys made me blush and go "aw shucks," I'm so glad you all are enjoying the story and I really hope I don't let you down.**

**Thank you again to:**

**Joralie- LOL. Thank you loads! Here's the update.**

**Taivan**

**princesspeanut**

**Kale- Thanks much! I wondered that too. How could he not have heard it? Or did he just ignore it? With everything that they've been through, no matter how hurt and angry Sam may be, I just can't see him turning away from his brother. So I was like, "You know what, lemme see if I can fix it." So here we go. Thanks for the review. Here's Chapter 2.**

**Mariethorne**

**Woodsbaile**

**DesertEagle: Thank you! I don't think Sam will lose Dean, in fact I'm pretty sure he won't. It just won't be the same without our boys, and the one thing that I love about them and the one thing that I will never never NEVER forget is their relationship. It's gonna be rough but we'll see where this goes. Who knows? This may be the one story where it won't end in a happy ending but an ambiguous "I'll leave it up to you to decide." ;-) :-D Thank you for reviewing and reading! Here's the next update.**

**Julie: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Here you are.**

_Too Little, Too Late_

_Chapter 2: Too Late?_

Dean watched his brother walk away in strides that were rushed and just a little stiff.

"_I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know."_

All he could do was stare with narrowed eyes and lowered brows as his little brother confessed those words so brokenly. He didn't say anything. He didn't move save for clenching his jaw. He only blinked at those last words. What could he say? What could he do?

"_You know, when you were a kid, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be…I'd be wrecked. And you—you'd come up to me and you, you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd... You'd say, 'It's okay, Dad.'"_

He remembered the sound of his father's voice. It was his father's voice, he knew that for certain, but the tone, the emotion in that voice—was that really his father?

He had been so sad. And heartbroken. Dean remembered the sight of tears flooding his dad's eyes as he whispered a broken apology. All he knew his father as was a pillar of strength. Nothing could bring that pillar down.

But here it was. Crumbling before eyes that didn't want to see.

He should've known then.

He was hearing everything he'd ever wanted to hear.

"_You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you. You know, I put…I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you."_

He should've known it was something more.

He should've known his father was saying goodbye.

Maybe he had. Maybe he had but he just didn't want to believe. He remembered his words…the light, humorous 'This really you talking?' that had just a bare vulnerability and fear right under the soft spoken words.

And then he saw his brother. He remembered the sound of his brother's desperate shout for help, so damn far away and yet too damn close. Echoing and hollow, he begged the highest Power, and maybe even the lowest, to just let it be a dream.

But when Sam burst into his room, when Dean saw the wetness and devastation in eye identical to his own, Dean knew that it was real.

And everything crashed down on him.

"_And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all."_

Damn it, Sammy. Damn you, Dad.

The fury rose up in a roaring tidal wave of red. There was a heavy something in his hand, he was swinging and there was that sharp tinkling of fragile glass being smashed.

That sole blow wasn't enough. He needed something more. He turned away from the blue car and its shattered window to stare down at the trunk.

This was his father's.

This was his one legacy from his father. This was what he had been left with. Fury and emptiness and terrible sorrow.

And Sam…

His eyes involuntarily flitted up to the area his brother had just vacated, and Sam's grieving face filled his vision. His own face twisted and his lips contorted into a snarl and he had slammed the crow bar into the metal in another hit before he even realized he had lifted it again.

_John lay his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay."_

_Dean stared dumbstruck at the tears that continued to fall._

CLANG.

Damn you.

"_Yeah Dad. You know I will." He whispered and his father's face wavered a bit. "You're scaring me."He couldn't help it. His voice broke._

CLANG.

Damn you!

"_Don't be scared, Dean."_

_Then he leaned down and whispered just a few words—words that left Dean stunned and speechless._

_He should've known._

CLANG.

Goddamn you!

His breath exploded from his lungs with every hit, every crash was joined with a coarse whimper. The bar swung and smashed against the trunk fourteen more times before falling to the ground with a clatter.

He gazed down at the gaping hole he'd created. There was the violence that he fought so hard to contain. There was the grief he was killing himself to temper.

And the fury.

"_I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late."_

God, Sammy. He thought.

"_Why are you saying this to me?"_

He remembered the effect his words had had on Sam. How deep they had cut. How confused those words had sounded. And for those few seconds, he hadn't cared.

"_Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"_

He remembered the look on his little brother's face. Shocked and wounded. Then incredibly cold.

"_I'm going to call Ellen."_

Those words had been said stonily and through clenched teeth. Then without another word, Sam turned and walked away.

God, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

His thoughts jumbled over each other in the time it took him to slump over the trunk. Rapid-fire and unforgiving.

He turned around, still stuck in memories to face where Sam had stood.

One sentence drowned out all the others.

"_I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know." Then Sam paused, tears nearly overflowing and seemed to wait. When all he did was stare, a look came into those green eyes, there was a slight nod and Sam bit his lips. "I'll let you get back to work."_

_And he walked away._

No. Sammy.

What would he do if he never came back? An incredible sadness overcame Dean and he could feel tears just rising to the surface. He couldn't lose Sammy.

"_And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late." _

He had been so angry. At himself, at his father. But not Sammy.

He had to fix this. It couldn't be too late. Not for them.

He wouldn't let it be.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Just gonna get to the point…I don't own._

_Warning: Couple of words. Don't think it's too bad._

_AN: Here it is. What is very probably the last chapter. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get it out. I've been working on it since Monday but this little baby gave me some problems. I'm still not completely satisfied with it but I really didn't want to overwork it._

_  
Thank you to everybody who reviewed the last chapter, y'all made me smile. I sent replies to everybody I could but there were a couple with no emails, so I'd just like to take the time to thank y'all now:_

_**Shinegami's Little Sis- I think I will keep writing. I like it. Wink Thanks for the read and review!**_

_**KatieLB- He didn't quite fix it, but I think they let a couple of things out. Thanks!**_

_**Mariethorne**_

_**Julie- Thank you so much! Hope I didn't make you wait too long!**_

_**Spuffyshipper- Thank you! You know, that's actually a great idea! Is it a story you've read or one you're planning on writing? If you're gonna write it, let me know, I'd really like to read it. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_

_**DesertEagle- LOL! Thank you so much, you're so kind. I'm pleased to tell you, there's another chapter. Here you go. I don't wanna kill anyone, wink. I hope you enjoy this.**_

**_Sonia- Aww, thank you! I'm not leaving it there, there's more, and here it is. Thank you for your compliments, your reading, and your review._**

_**Daisymaygirl1**_

_**Silverstorm06**_

**_Phx- Thank you! I don't think Dean could ever really be mad at Sam. Pissed off and annoyed? Sure, little brother, big brother. But mad and disappointed in? Nuh uh. I think he's too Papa Bear to Sammy for that. _**

**_SN1983- You made me laugh! Here you go. Thank you for reviewing and reading!_**

_Okay…on to the story._

_Too Little, Too Late_

_Chapter 3: What They Did Best_

Sam didn't know what to do. He didn't know if there was anything he _could_ do. That Impala was Dean's pride and joy. That Impala was the one, the _only_ thing that could make Dean threaten all sorts of things to do to him. Like Nair in his shampoo again. Or God forbid, waking up to a recording of a Ronald McDonald commercial.

Was it really so bad that Dean could so utterly, so viciously destroy something so precious to him? The one thing that screamed of their Dad, the memories they had in that thing. The frantic glances to the back seat when one of them was injured so badly that they raced to the hospital. Or the warmth he just barely remembered when he was a little boy and he'd cuddle up to his brother's side in the back seat. Or the few times when the three of them—Dean, Dad, and him—would just forget about the hunt, for just a few precious seconds and just be a family.

Not hunters. Not warriors. Not Slayers of every evil and sadistic, non-dead son of a bitch that had the misfortune of catching their eyes.

They were Dad and Dean and Sammy.

But there was no more Dad. And he was damned afraid there was no more Sammy.

He continued to watch. As he had watched for what surely had to have been an eternity. He watched as Dean, once again, turned from him, from what he couldn't see. He watched as Dean swayed once, then twice, then caught himself once again on the battered and dirty trunk. And he watched as Dean's chin fell toward his chest, and his shoulders seemed to further drop.

He'd depended on those shoulders. Watched as they grew from being small and slight on a skinny little boy, to bony and angular on a lanky teenager, and finally to the strong and broad span of one of the four best hunters he knew.

Now, he thought as yet another tear dropped and disappeared, his brother was the only one. Pastor Jim. Caleb. _Dad_. They were all gone.

And all he did was watch and depend on Dean. He was the little brother. He swore he hated it. He swore he could hold his own. He swore he didn't need protecting. So why then did he just watch and need when he should've seen that his brother was cracking and faltering?

Too little, too late, he thought bitterly and swallowed a harsh laugh. His brother wasn't cracking and faltering anymore. He was shattered.

He wouldn't watch anymore. He might end up with another black eye and another split lip and most probably a broken nose. But damned if he was going to watch.

He took a step, then another, and another. He kept at it until he was just behind his brother.

Dean.

He wasn't sure if he whispered it or thought it or even shouted it. But Dean started in a nearly invisible twitch before he turned.

Maybe he'd sensed his little brother, maybe he heard him, he didn't know. But there he was. Eyes red and puffy, wet tracks down his cheek and Dean wanted to bash the hell out of something else.

Did he do that? He did that.

How could he do that?

"Sammy."

It just came out. He hadn't even thought it when it just popped out of his mouth. He saw the cloud that passed over Sam's face for just a second, his eyes darkened and his lips tightened.

For an instant, Dean thought that it was fury and when his little brother raised his hand, Dean was expecting a right hook.

When that hand bypassed his face and hooked around the back of his neck, Dean froze and wondered dumbly if Sam was going to snap it like a twig.

He was seriously considering muttering 'Christos' and wanting holy water when Sam yanked him forward and into his arms.

He stood frozen and shocked for a few moments.

"Dude." It was his first, his natural instinct to fight out of any and all potential emotional, chick-flick moments. And so he did.

He was surprised when Sam's arms banded around his shoulders even tighter. Where had that strength come from?

"You're a jackass." Sam's voice came from somewhere near his ear. "And I'm a jerk."

Oh God. "Sammy—"

"Shut up Dean." And he just held on.

Dean stared out of the corner of his eye at the shaggy mop of brown hair that was his brother. What could he do? Would it mean so much to just hold on to somebody? _Really_ hold on. Would it destroy everything?

He couldn't see anything that wasn't in shambles already. He couldn't see anything that wasn't destroyed. The cars around him, the car to the side of him, Sammy.

Himself.

Their memories.

So couldn't he just hold on? Just for a little while.

So he did. He brought his arms up and wrapped his arms around Sam's back.

But just for a little while.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"Shut up, Dean."

"But—"

"I said shut up, Dean."

He rolled his eyes, sighed, and shut up.

They stayed that way for a few minutes. Leaning on each other, allowing themselves just those moments to gather…whatever is it was they _could_ gather.

It wasn't much. As soon as they let go, everything would probably crash back down again.

It had to. It was their balance, as fucked up as it was, their constant.

But more than the pain was a regular variable, so were they for each other—the comfort may have come in silence, or double-entendre quips, or razor sharp words, or even punches but it came.

They were broken, they were shattered, and they had walls towering between the two of them. But they would deal.

They had to.

But for now, they had warmth, and solidity, and familiarity. It wouldn't last. For now, it would just be. And they would make it be enough.

Even if they didn't really believe it.

When he felt Sam's tears burn through his shirt, Dean didn't cry, his eyes didn't even burn. He just blinked firmly and clenched his teeth hard enough for his jaw to spasm. He just reached up with one hand and, mirroring his brother, gripped the back of Sam's neck, squeezing the tense muscles there.

I'm sorry, little brother.

"I wish you would talk to me."

Dean sighed again and they let go of each other. The moment was over, and they both felt what they knew what happen—the walls re-erecting and everything else coming back.

Life always moved on and reality always came to bite you on the ass.

"Sammy, I can't." He stepped away from his brother.

Sam smiled tremulously and sadly at the action. "I know. I'm not going to pretend to understand why, and I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't piss me off, but I know."

"You don't need to understand it," Dean murmured, bitterness settling in him again, "you just need to accept it."

"And if I can't?"

"You will."

"But if I can't?" Sam pressed, his eyes begging.

Dean's jaw clenched, "You will."

It was a staring contest after that. Neither flinched, neither blinked. The heat and the tension could be clearly felt by both. They were so close, barely two feet from each other, but they knew that they were so far apart.

Dean swallowed. He was the first to look away. "I can't talk to you now, Sammy. Not now. I need you to give me time."

Sam forced the wetness back. He couldn't be the baby brother right now. Maybe if he showed he could be strong, his brother could not be. Maybe if he didn't feel so much, his brother wouldn't hold his feelings in to tightly. "Fine. I'll give you time." He nodded sharply. "Then I'm hounding your ass."

Dean couldn't help it. He laughed. It was echoing and hollow and it shocked him but he laughed. "All right."

They were silent again.

Oh, the hell with it. Dean thought.

"Sammy."

Sam looked at him. "Yeah."

"Don't stop feeling."

Sam blinked at his big brother in surprise. "What?"

"I know what you're thinking. Don't stop feeling," if he sounded like he was begging, all the women in the world wouldn't get a confession out of him. If he sounded desperate, he'd deny it to his dying day. "You have to promise me that."

"Dean…"

Dean grabbed his little brother's shoulder, "I mean it, Sam. Promise me. We're going to piss each other off; we're going to hurt each other like hell before either of us actually deal. But no matter what happens, no matter what we do to each other, promise me that you'll never stop feeling. Promise me that you won't be like me."

His voice didn't break. He wouldn't believe it did.

Sam didn't know what to say. Wasn't he supposed to be the only psychic in the family, he couldn't help but think. He'd hardly ever heard his brother sound like that. So…young and so vulnerable.

"No."

Dean stared at him. "What?"

"I won't promise you." He's going to kill me.

"Sam—"

"I can only hope to be half like you, Dean."

Oh.

Dean blinked.

Well shit.

"We're not okay. We're not going to be okay for a very, very," he snorted almost callously and Dean winced at the harsh sound, "_very_ long time. And you're right; we've got a hell of a time coming to us. Dad's dead. I don't know how to deal with that, you can't deal with that."

Dean's eyes darkened and he opened his mouth to fire an angry something before he closed it again.

"And you can't stop doing that. You can't stop…stopping yourself from feeling your emotions instead of just letting them out and that's going to come back, and it's going to kill you and everything near you. You're letting them fester and build and someday it's going to explode. I can only hope that I'm there with you when it happens. But until then, I'm going to annoy you and I'm going to get you to feel as much as I possibly can. We're going to fix this, Dean." That last sentence wasn't as confident as he hoped it would be.

Dean had remained silent throughout the impassioned speech, much like he had minutes before Sam had walked away and he took that crow bar to the trunk.

He felt much the same emotions—sadness, grief, fury, and everything fucking thing in between. And he did what he always he did—he hid them.

It seemed, though, he couldn't hide them from his brother.

"It's going to be awhile." Dean said solemnly, "You're right. We're not going to be okay for a long time. If we ever are. And we can't fix this. Not now, not yet."

_Maybe not ever._

It was unspoken but they both knew it.

Sam shook his head vigorously and Dean felt his anger. "But we will, right?"

The little boy tone stood in stark contrast before the anger in Sam's eyes slid to desperation. Dean was reminded of that time when Sam came to him with a stuffed teddy bear with its arm falling off. They had no idea where the sewing supplies were, and tears were just cascading down that baby face. Dean had told him that he couldn't fix it and Sam just looked at him with lips trembling and asked him that very same question in that very same tone.

He could answer only in honesty. "We're going to try like hell." He squeezed Sam's shoulder again and let go.

Sam stared at him before he nodded.

"And until then?"

Dean looked away and back to that huge hole. It was such a symbol.

And god, but he hated philosophy.

"I fix the car. You pace out here every forty five minutes for twenty. We find jobs. And we do what we do best." They never realized the depth of that last statement.

Not until then.

That hole in the trunk would be fixed. The car would be fixed. Everything would be made up to nice and neat and orderly.

But they would know better. They would know of the darkness. They would know of the hopelessness. They would know of the emptiness. They would do what they did best.

They would hide their tears, and they would hide their suffering. They would be strong for the other even if they were crumbling inside.

Because if they couldn't hide it, if they couldn't hold the shattering within themselves, how could they keep evil from doing the same to the innocents? How could they protect the world from everything else, when they couldn't protect it from themselves?

They couldn't fix it. It sucked. And it hurt like hell. They wouldn't be able to deal for a very long time. They would never get over it.

They may not have been able to protect themselves. But maybe, just maybe, they could still protect everybody else.

No matter what it would mean.

The End….

_Oh wow…my very first completed chaptered story! Yay! I hope you all enjoyed this story, and I thank everybody who left reviews. They made me happy, they made me blush, and they encouraged me to write this to the very best of my ability._

_I worked on this chapter for so long, deleting and re-working and everything. This story was only three chapters and what might be thought of as short, but it was so hard. Finally, I kept it at what I hoped felt natural. I have a newfound respect for all you epic writers out there! _

_In the end of this chapter, I was slightly disappointed because it doesn't feel like I did it justice. But this is my first "major" minor story, so…ehh._

_Once again…thank you all for reading and I hope you click that little button down and review. Let me know how I did. Tankies much! _


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